


Like Water, Like Flesh

by Dirty_Corza



Series: Secrets [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There was no reason for it, though. No reason for John to look as though he could see more than what was there, no reason for his fingers to slide against the tips of Sherlock's tentacles as if they could feel them. When their hands entwined on a chase through London, there was no reason for John to act as though he could feel more than just another warm human hand holding his. It was maddening, all the evidence in favor of John somehow being the mystical exception.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Water, Like Flesh

Sherlock knew there was no way for John to see through the spells. Even his own eyes couldn't see the delicate tentacles that made up his fingers as they wrapped around test tubes. It was so masterful he even looked like a human when nude. There was no possible way John's eyes could see through what his own could not.

Yet every time John noticed him with the test tubes, his eyes lingered, his brow furrowed. When his skin was on display, John looked at him as though some trick of the light was making him see something other than the pale expanse that was there. It was unnerving, seeing that look in someones eyes, like his skin was transparent, like his soul was on display.

It wasn't until he saw John turn the same look on Molly that he realized his initial response of “John is seeing though my skin” might have been right. Seeing the way John's eyes were drawn to Mycroft's fingers as they wrapped around the handle of his umbrella only added further evidence to his theory.

There was no reason for it, though. No reason for John to look as though he could see more than what was there, no reason for his fingers to slide against the tips of Sherlock's tentacles as if they could feel them. When their hands entwined on a chase through London, there was no reason for John to act as though he could feel more than just another warm human hand holding his. It was maddening, all the evidence in favor of John somehow being the mystical exception.

But if John could see through the disguise, why on earth was he still living with Sherlock?

\- - -

“Are you allergic to iodine?”

Sherlock blinked at John, trying to figure out why John was kneeling beside him, and why he himself was lying down. “What?”

“Iodine and hydrogen peroxide. Is it safe for me to use them on you?” John's face was full of concern, though there was a touch of exasperation in his voice.

“I- Yes, no allergies, wha-”

John's arms were around him before he could continue, shocked into silence by the way John cradled him so carefully. “I'm taking you home, then. You hit your head, there's a cut on your leg from a rusty fence, and I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to look so pink. It's not just the edges this time. Oh, and your blood is coming out white, which, again, probably shouldn't be happening right now. At least not when I can clearly tell.”

“Clearly tell?” The memory of the chase was coming back to him, missing his footing landing on the other roof, catching himself on the gutter, but his fingers hadn't been able to hold him. That was making the pain in his head and leg make sense, but the way John spoke as if he had known Sherlock's secret all along was baffling.

“Normally, you're just a bit blurry around the edges, like Mycroft, and Molly too, when you tease her. I can tell your fingers aren't quite fingers then, but I can't tell what they are, other than vaguely pink. But now, well, I can see they're tentacles, not fingers. And it's actually more of a fuchsia when I was expecting a rose.” John spoke as he walked, not quite a jog but definitely faster than normal.

It was a smooth walk, probably just about as fast as John could get without jostling him, Sherlock realized with a start. John was that worried about his injuries. “It was probably hitting my head. I can't concentrate quite right, and that's probably jarring the-” he paused, not knowing what word to use. He knew John knew he was different, but how much of what he really was did John suspect?

“Spell?” Sherlock couldn't see John's face when he made the comment, but from the sound of his voice, John was probably almost smirking.

“How do you-”

“It's in my blood. Not magic, not like yours at least. And my sister didn't get it, just me. So my gran taught me, made me memorize a whole lot about your people and the other things with magic in the world. Most of which are probably extinct, but she wanted me to be prepared. And I just blew it all by telling you that. Now be quiet.” John stopped talking as he stopped walking, looking around a corner and cursing under his breath.

“John?” Sherlock's voice was a bare whisper, hardly louder than the traffic on the street at the other end of the alley.

“For once in my life, I really hope your brother is planning to step in and save the day.” John leaned back against the wall of the alley, eyes looking anywhere but at Sherlock. It sent a chill down Sherlock's spine.

“For once, I think I agree with you.” he murmured, hands gripping John's arms tight. The pain in his head was getting worse, far worse than any purely physical trauma should have caused. His vision was fading, and only the fear of what was around that corner kept him from calling John's name.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all are enjoying this.


End file.
